


Postcards from Space

by mugsandpugs



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet, First Meetings, Five Times, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ravagers - Freeform, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: My take on a few events in Yondu and Kraglin's 30+ years working together. (Can be shippy or platonic)





	Postcards from Space

**.I. I Noticed You .I.**

He didn't set out for the back allies of planet Frisk looking for anything more than a drink, a fight, and some less-than-legal weapons to equip his burgeoning crew of Ravagers. 

Actually, what Yondu truly wanted was some peace of mind. Despite years of working his way up the ranks on Stakar's ship, he'd never thought he would actually become a captain of his own small, motley crew. And if he was being quite honest, he was in way over his head. 

Sure, they'd worked a few jobs, and had gotten paid decently for them. But now money was tight and morale was about as low as their dwindling fuel and food supplies. He knew he had to find work, and soon. What better place for a pirate to seek employment opportunities than a place as disreputable as this? 

He passed gambling booths, pleasure houses, breweries, and distilleries. The faint but oh-so-familiar tang of _brohn,_ an illegal but widespread narcotic, assaulted his nose with every breath, making him slightly irritable. He'd been encouraged by different owners to sample it several times during his youth as a Kree battle slave, but had never experienced the euphoria the others claimed it brought. For him, it caused nothing more than tremors and severe paranoia that could last for hours, which made him truly monstrous in battle. It was possible that that had been the intent. 

He rounded a corner into a narrow makeshift alley between tents and booths, and felt his heart plunge to a stop inside his chest at what he saw taking place: A slave auction. 

He should have known this place was too good to be true. 

It wasn't as though he hadn't encountered these since he'd been freed. He had, many times, though it always made him queasy. And he was no bleeding-heart; he knew better than anyone that life was unfair. In fact, the very nature of his occupation meant that he made a living off the galaxy's unfairness. If he went around feeling sorry for every lifeform that got the short end of the stick, he'd never get anywhere. It was just something he preferred not to think about, when he could help it. But being close enough to see their _faces..._

He turned to leave, ears assaulted with the familiar, growling language of Skrull with his gaze focused firmly on his boots and the hem of his long red coat as he walked. He didn't need to see this. He didn't need to be Reminded. He'd left that past behind him the day Stakar had hauled his torn and bleeding body out of a battlefield and into his new life as a Ravager. 

"Hello, sir, step right up!" A smooth voice intoned as an arm draped itself over his shoulders. "I see you wear Ravager garb. Surely you could use a Buck or two to help out around your ship?" 

_Bucks. Does._ Oh, he remembered that terminology well. He turned unreadable red eyes onto the face of the slave-trader that wheedled him; a fuschia-skinned Xandarian with a curled mustache and a tall hat. Broken violet blood vessells in his swollen nose and eyelids suggested a serious drinking problem. 

Yondu reluctantly followed his gaze to the tall dais where about fourteen slaves of many genders and races posed, allowing themselves to be examined by potential buyers who prodded their teeth and squeezed their muscles. All of this was surveyed by stern-looking traders who held tight to data pads and industrial-strength Tasers. 

Yondu forced himself to watch when a trader dragged a scrawny, near-naked slave onto the dais, his head covered in a cloth bag. When the shoppers descended the stairs and joined the crowd at the bottom of the dais, he was released, and the other slaves converged menacingly. Though he tried to defend himself, he could not see where he was going, and they were upon him in an instant. 

Yondu knew this tactic well. The blindfolded slave was called a Mouse- too weak, sickly, or old to be considered worthwhile market value. Mice were released amongst Bucks and Does for the sole purpose of being torn apart to showcase their strength. It was a macabre but effective sales strategy to draw attention- and units. 

This particular Mouse defended himself valiantly despite punches and kicks flying from all sides, unable to see any of them coming. He'd fallen to his knees in a second and disappeared under the pile. Unaffected, shoppers watched their favorites with interest to see how they fared. Several cheered them on. 

Yondu felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Coming here was a mistake. The thought of leaving was all that was on his mind as he tried in vain to pull away from the Trader. But before he could, the Mouse, in a burst of strength, leapt through the pile attempting to smother him. Yondu, too, felt breathless. It was as though he'd been dragged back in time, to when he was owned, was sold and purchased regularly at Kree pavilions similar to this one to keep him from developing too close bonds in any one faction. When his world had been nothing but blood- his life, or someone else's- he'd always, mercilessly, chosen his own. 

The Mouse's mask had fallen off in the struggle and he had such a young face that Yondu wanted to shrink back. With nothing but pure instinct to live, he fought back with hands and fists, biting and clawing and scratching to get away. His struggles lead him to the edge of the dais, and then a golden-skinned slave with fire in her eyes shoved him over, where he fell eight feet to the cement ground and crumpled into a ball. 

Yondu didn't register himself moving from point A to point B. All he knew was that he'd been standing, watching breathlessly with the slaver leaning on his shoulder one moment, and the next he was kneeling with the Mouse's head in his lap. 

The man's skin was slick with a cold sweat and when they made eye-contact, Yondu saw that his pupils were enormous, eclipsing pale irises. The effects of a bad brohn trip, Yondu was sure of it. The Mouse trembled with uncontrollable muscle spasms and seemed quite unaware of Yondu's presence. 

"Seems to me it's pretty bad form," Yondu said conversationally to the man in the high hat as he approached, hauling himself and the battle-slave to their feet as, above them, the slaves gathered shouting for the return of their prey. "You know. Druggin' them and then makin' em fight. What kind of operation are you runnin' here?" 

Not that that question warranted any answer. There was nothing about this that would be permissible under a planet of Xandarian rule, but Frisk was about as far out of Xandar's range as was possible to be whilst remaining in the same solar system. 

The man in the tall hat grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth straight and white as piano keys. "If you don't like it," he said, voice the soft, rumbly purr of a Skrull jungle cat. "Why don't you buy him and treat him how _you_ deem fit?" 

The Mouse groaned, his knees buckling, and Yondu fought to keep holding him up. He stank of sweat, face half-collapsed from recently broken teeth, and a rivulet of navy blood dripped steadily from his nose and into the starvation-hollowed dip of his collarbone. If he were thrown back into this fight, he would die almost immediately. Yondu knew this, as on more than one occasion, several years and a lifetime ago, he had been the one to end the lives of such Mice. He could still feel the crunch of narrow, underfed throats breaking underneath his hands. 

"A'right," he said, and the slave-trader blinked, startled. "I'll take him." 

"O-oh." Clearly never one to pass up free money- after all, a Mouse typically earned the trader nothing but the attention drawn to his more suitable specimens- he recovered quickly. "Excellent, yes, let me just speak with my colleagues about pricing-" 

The crest on Yondu's head began to glow bright as Saturn's rings, and the arrow at his hip twitched awake. "I don't recall sayin' I'd be payin' you fer 'im," he replied conversationally, and then it was his turn to offer a nasty smile. 

... 

Behind them, the city of Frisk was burning bright and hot as an explosive bonfire when their little ship sailed merrily away, pursued by a few surviving drones he knew his crew could handle easily. 

Yondu had shaved the ex-slave's head, applied a numbing gel, and was prepping his scalpel to begin the delicate task of parting his brain stem with the tracking explosive device meant to kept property behaving in a way their owners agreed with, as Stakar had done for him not so very long ago. Kraglin Obfonteri, his data pad informed him, when a simple blood test pulled up his information. He was of Xandarian citizenship. There were no further records on him aside from _Missing; Presumed Deceased._

"Do I gotta call you Master now?" Kraglin asked in a dozy, sedated voice when the blade kissed his numbed skin. He had a number branded just below the first nob of his spine; Yondu had burned his own away with an iron as soon as he was able, but Kraglin could decide what to do with his on his own. 

Yondu snorted, a little queasy at the thought. "Did I pay fer you? I don't think so. Boy, you could walk out this ship's doors tomorrow and I'd shake your hand and ask you to call me Yondu," he informed him. Flesh parted under his scalpel; he pinned back the folds and, just a few centimeters deep, he saw a hint of black plastic. "Or you could stay, but in that case I'd prefer you call me Captain." 

**.II. I Respected You .II.**

"Cap'n! _Cap'n!"_

"What is it, Kraglin?"

"We need to talk about this Ego guy." 

"What about 'im? He's made us rich." 

"I don't like 'im." 

"I mean... I don't either, but you didn't have a problem with all the units we got for giving 'im that A'askavariian girl. What changed?" 

"Cap'n... where's that Kree girl we brought him a few months back? Or that Skrull boy? The Xandarian baby? What's happening to their caregivers that they all just conveniently die in time for him to want 'em?" 

"Do you care?" 

"Yes, cap'n, I _care._ And I know you do, too. That's why you won't look at me right now. We have _lots of money_ and if we keep takin' kids, the other Ravagers are gonna find out, and they're not gonna be okay with it. You really wanna get us all exiled?" 

"..." 

"Cap'n, you an' I both know _something ain't right,_ and if you don't stop-" 

"If I don't stop then _what,_ Kraglin? You gonna _leave?_ What are you cryin' fer anyway, you growin' soft?" 

"...Yes, cap'n. If you're too damn proud to listen to me when you know I'm right, if what I have to say doesn't much matter, then what do you even need me for? I'm your first mate; you _hired_ me for my help. Let me do my job or let me go." 

"... You really think he's bad news?" 

"..." 

"Alright, Krags. I- okay. But if we don't pick up this kid he's hired us for, he'll send someone else." 

"You goin' to go get 'im?" 

"Looks like it. What kinda planet is _Terra,_ anyway?" 

**.III. I Trusted You .III.**

Confidence is only skin-deep; at least for Yondu. 

This is difficult sometimes, especially considering that the skin in question is so marred with scarring that from certain angles his flesh resembles smashed blue pottery that's been reassembled in some creative, if not caring, ways. 

His face alone is etched with raised white lines- the result of a grenade he was told he shouldn't have survived. And the rest of his body... well. 

There's a reason he dresses in thick leathers from neck to ankles. And there's even more reason he stands with erect posture and walks in great strides. Though not the tallest man on the Eclector, many often mistake him as such based on presence alone. He is _commanding._ It takes more than just blue skin and a flashy red crest to draw all eyes in the room his way, and he works hard to keep it like this. 

So that is why when, beaten and down, his front teeth kicked in making it impossible to whistle, he resists so strongly when Kraglin tries to wrest his coat off. 

"Cap'n, we need to stop the bleeding!" 

"N- don't," he protests weakly, pushing at his second-in-command's arms. Kraglin's hands are coated in inky blue blood- _his_ blood. It's not so bad, really. He can't even feel the bullet anymore. Actually, he can't feel much of anything. 

"Cap'n they _shot_ you. Please... if not fer me, fer Pete. What's gonna happen to 'im if we let those freaks get any further away?!" 

This breaks through the fog that had Yondu's mind reeling, and he gasps like a swimmer breaching the surface. "Quill!" 

"S'right, cap'n. They got our boy. And I'm gonna go get 'im." 

"I'm-" 

"No, cap'n. Not this time. Yer too hurt. You need to go back to the Eclector." 

Yondu feels a choking surge of panic. He can't go back to the crew, not like this- defenseless and bleeding. They smell fear on a person; a mutiny will surely rise from his not being able to fight back. 

Kraglin studies his face closely, guessing at his thoughts. "Not an option, huh? Well cap'n, I ain't no doctor. I can't fix you. But I _can_ go get Pete, if you'll let me. An' Tullk and Orlo, they won't ever let nothin' happen to you, I know it." 

Oh, the shame of having his fears so easily seen through! But the junkers that had attacked them when they were vulnerable in the tiny M-ship had beat them to hell and back, taken everything of value, and had shot Yondu in the gut to bleed out. Peter's bleats of fear as the adolescent was carted off on the backs of half-feral men to be sold are still ringing in his ears. 

"You gotta go get him," he realizes. He knows he would only be a hindrance at this point- another person Kraglin would have to protect in this fight. "I- you're the only one who can." Peter is too old to be properly brainwashed into a useful battle slave, but that doesn't mean there aren't a thousand other uses they can find with him- each worse than the last. 

Kraglin nods seriously, and Yondu moves his hands aside, closing his eyes as his second-in-command strips him of both coat and sleeveless shirt. He feels far too exposed without them, knowing Kraglin can see the vast expanse of scars on his imperfect body telling a tale of a life of weakness and fallibility. 

When he dares peek he sees that Kraglin has eyes only for the bleeding wound in his gut. His face is devoid of pity, judgment, or horror- there nothing but a perfunctory determination in his blue eyes. It's this that gives Yondu the strength to breathe again. 

"Hold it there, cap'n," he says, and Yondu does, pressing firmly to staunch the bleeding with the thin fabric. Then Kraglin calls the main ship, leaving a comm message with Yondu's coordinates for pickup. 

Kraglin makes for the M-ship and Yondu thinks that's the end of it, but he returns with water, and he drags his captain to some thick underbrush, stifling his moan of pain with a hand clamped firmly to his mouth. He covers him in leaves, though as far as they are aware the tiny planet they've been stranded on between jump points is entirely devoid of sentient life. 

"Krags," he says hoarsely, having enough of all the fussing. "Go get our boy." 

It's too dark to properly see him as he stands tall over Yondu, but Yondu hears him loyally pound his chest twice in the Ravager salute. "I will, cap'n. Don't you die 'fore I get back or I'll not be happy with you." 

A smile flickers across his features. He thinks he's only closed his eyes for a minute, but when he opens them again, Kraglin is gone and he's being hauled into his ship by some familiar crew members. He grunts, the pain of the dried blood in his wound crusting, flaking- and then he is under once more. 

"- synthetic blood." 

"Will it work?" 

"It has so far." 

"Where's the kid?" 

"Where's Kraglin?" 

Voices filter in and out of his mind as his level of unconsciousness waxes and wanes. The das't machine pumping chemicals into his mouth and nose keep him too out of it to interact with anyone, and he is again and again dragged under- a tiny ship helpless against the storm that rages in the ocean around him. Until- 

"Yondu-" 

"Wake up, cap'n." 

His eyelids feel as though they are weighted down; he almost doesn't remember how to open them, and when he manages the figures standing over him are quite blurry. "Hm-" 

He can't speak; a long tube is down his nose and throat. Alarmed, he tries to move away from it, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. 

"Cap'n, you shouldn't be moving right now. They had to restart your heart twice. I just had them lower your knock-out drip so's I could tell you we's back alright. Say hi, Pete." 

The shorter of the two figures mumbles a quiet, "Hey." 

Kraglin bends down, and finally his features come into focus. "Everythin's gonna be alright now, cap'n. You're stabilized, and those junkers ain't never gonna be bothering nobody again. Pete's back. You just focus on gettin' better, okay? I'll make sure the idjits on this ship don't do anything too stupid." 

Slowly, Yondu feels himself start to relax. It might be those 'knock-out drugs' Kraglin had mentioned creeping back into effect, but if he is being totally honest with himself, he'd have been unable to truly let go until he knew a competent second-in-command was at the helm. 

He can rest now. All is well. 

**.IV. I Depended On You .IV.**

Kraglin had predicted the Ravager exile, and the threat had dwelled in the back of Yondu's mind- a paranoid, festering thing that grew as year after year passed in relative peace and prosperity. As much peace and prosperity as almost two thousand outlaws flying in an enormous craft created from salvaged and stolen parts could reasonably expect, at least. 

He saw now that he'd been living on borrowed time. But oh, he was not prepared for the look of naked disgust in Stakar's eyes. It burned all the way down, as though he'd swallowed liquid fire. He wanted to hang his head in shame. 

_"You broke the code, Yondu."_

He tried, haltingly, to explain himself. That he hadn't _known_ what Ego was doing to his children- that it didn't seem so very wrong, bringing kids to their father. It wasn't the same as... it wasn't what his own parents had done to _him._

He should have saved his breath. 

He stood still when it was clear Stakar would not yield, and wondered if his mentor, his rescuer, his _hero_ would rip the Ravager flames off his chest, same as he'd pinned them on a quarter of a century prior. 

He didn't. He only sneered and turned his back on Yondu, as though he weren't worth even that much effort. And despite Yondu's worry that he would try to take Peter away, he didn't so much as look at him; giving the entirety of the Eclector only a passing glance, as though it and everyone on it were too beneath him to spare a passing thought. 

Yondu silently sank back into his chair as loud arguments erupted all around him, staring glassily at the expanse of space that stretched before him, at Stakar's ship as it left him behind for good. Space was enormous and lonely, and he suddenly felt very small. 

He wondered when the mutinies would start, now that they were their own city, governed by none; belonging to nobody and therefore, protected by nobody but themselves, either. Cut off from the rest of the Ravager factions, they were now a solitary island in the cosmos. 

The phrase, _"What are we going to do now?"_ Kept resurfacing amongst the arguing groups around him. 

Kraglin stood tall in the center of them all, not speaking. When he looked into Yondu's face, Yondu felt the first flare of life since Stakar's declaration flicker back into existence. Kraglin just watched him in that same quiet, unassuming way he always did. And when he spoke, people _listened._

For one so thin, Kraglin too carried a commanding presence amongst Yondu's Ravagers. It was more than just his rank- Yondu couldn't have declared just anyone First Mate and expected the others to listen. He was self-assured, and downright _mean_ in a scrap. Though many Ravagers near-doubled his size or carried cybernetic weapons within their own bodies, none were foolish enough to cross this seemingly unassuming and quiet man directly. Any other day, Yondu would have felt a surge of pride for him. Today, however, he felt nothing but shame: _this_ was the path he'd lead Kraglin- lead them _all-_ down. As captain, the fault was his alone. 

"We're gonna do what we always do," Kraglin said. He did not raise his voice; the others simply quieted to hear him. "Ain't that right, cap'n?" 

Yondu flicked red eyes in his direction, then nodded. The crew must have felt some of the same level of quiet reassurance that he did, because the murmuring slowly stopped. 

"We's got a huge ship- bigger'n most Ravagers got. An' we're not exactly lacking on Units. We kin make it on our own, in this here floating city of ours." 

The murmurs started up again, but this time with a distinctly more positive tone. 

"We got each other," Kraglin said, and threw an arm over Peter's scrawny adolescent shoulders. "And we've got the best cap'n in all the skies." 

A scattered cheer rang out from various corners. Not everyone was applauding, but the attitude in the room was changing ever so slightly. 

"We'll be fine," Kraglin said, with such certainty that most looked convinced. This was increased tenfold when he said, "So why don't we liberate the shareholds of some o' that fine Kree brew we stole all them months back and have ourselves a Night of it?" 

This time the cheer eclipsed all other sound. Ravagers were nothing if not perpetually eager for debauchery. 

Peter said something- it was drowned out in the din- and Kraglin tilted his ear the teenager's way to catch it. He considered, then nodded, and then Peter, too, was cheering. Kraglin pounded him on the back, then made his way for the captain's chair. 

Yondu stared up at him, silently, and Kraglin's eyes were full of that same unbearable understanding he always wore nowadays when he looked at his captain. It was an expression Yondu didn't always understand- in fact, sometimes it frightened him. What did Kraglin _see_ when he looked at him that way? Could he see all the way through him, to the scared child-slave he'd once been, blood smearing his face (so rarely his own; he was a despicable creature that kept putting others down so that he might continue existing in a life nobody would ever deem worth living)? 

And why didn't he ever want to look away from his second in command? Why did the harsh realities of the galaxy feel so much more bearable when he knew the other man was at his side? How much would it hurt when, inevitably, they were wrenched apart? He'd long since grown accustomed to the truth that, for him, all good things must someday end. 

Kraglin pounded out the Ravager salute, and Yondu held back a snort. He didn't deserve to be saluted as captain just then, and they both knew it, formalities be damned. 

"Cap'n, can I talk to you in private?" 

Oh, here it was. Kraglin was going to declare him an unfit captain and politely ask that he step down. He had honor enough not to stage a mutiny unless Yondu were foolish enough to refuse- but how could he refuse? He knew he didn't deserve it anymore. Ravager code decreed that disgraced captains, should they survive the change in management, be left stranded on an uninhabited planet with enough supplies as the crew deemed fitting- reborn to start another life, or to die quietly. Was this what Kraglin would ask of him? 

What would happen to Quill? 

He obligingly made for his quarters where he and Kraglin and Quill and whichever Ravagers could cram themselves into huddles on the floor usually slept, stepping over cushions and discarded piles of clothing to seat himself on the end of his mattress. Kraglin remained standing. 

"Cap'n," the first mate said, and Yondu braced himself for whatever blow would come next. 

"You can't let this get you down," Kraglin said finally. "We knew it was comin'. Are you tellin' me you regret it? Regret _Pete?"_

Yondu blinked, startled. "Do I... regret him?" 

"You wish we'd never of kept 'im? Because you can't tell me that; I'd know it was a lie. I'm sayin'- you can't keep lookin' so dazed in the face, okay? They gotta know yer in control or there'll be trouble. I've bought you some time, but by tomorrow, you gotta be _Cap'n_ again, a'right?" 

Yondu startled. That almost sounded like... 

"I'm gonna go out an' do damage control, cap. Can you just, stay in here til you feel better? It'd be good if you could come down sooner or later, though. Stands to reason you actin' like everything's okay would convince everyone else of it, too." 

Yondu nods dumbly, throat dry, an inexpressible feeling in his chest. Kraglin stands, too, and makes to leave him in privacy, but turns back as a thought hits him. 

"Oh yeah- I told Pete he could drink tonight, too, but don't worry. I'll keep an eye on 'im." 

**.V. And in the End, I Let You Go .V.**

It's over. 

His crew is dead; either killed by each other or himself. And his ship, his beloved Eclector, is nothing but an expanding, flaming ball in space several hundred jumps behind them. There is nothing left. 

Well, almost nothing. 

"Cap'n," Kraglin calls, and he does so in a broken voice that stops Yondu dead in his tracks. He knows that tone, and he couldn't walk away from it for the biggest score in the world. 

He turns to look his first mate in his eyes that are brimming with unspilt tears. It appears that Kraglin, too, knows this is one mission his captain won't be returning from. 

"Krags, I..." Yondu says, but finds there are no words for this. So instead he briskly pounds his fist twice on his chest, the formal Ravager salute. 

Kraglin tries to echo the gesture, but his hand falls weakly to his side, as though even that small motion is too much to make. Then he takes three rapid steps forward and fastens a hand on the back of Yondu's neck, bringing their foreheads together with a clack. 

Despite the potential cranial bruising, Yondu knows what it means. He's seen it many times. It'd begun as a Xandarian tradition between mates at the time of their union, signifying their new life as one mind in two bodies. It'd caught on, filling the galaxies as a symbol of pure love and absolute trust. 

Kraglin takes a deep, shuddery breath, and Yondu feels his lips trembling from proximity. He lets out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that had long since built into his shoulders, and brings his hand up to cup his first mate's warm cheek, brushing an escaped tear away with one calloused, blue thumb. 

"You've gotten mighty bold," he says quietly, and Kraglin attempts a laugh that hiccups a little too loud, repressed emotion catching on an edge as carefully constructed and maintained barriers between captain and first mate crash and burn around them and they are left only, at long last, as equals. 

"It's been an honor and a privilege to work with you, Krags" he continues, allowing his true sincerity, respect, appreciation to show in his voice. He feels Rocket staring at them, but can't bring himself to care. Let him look. What is there to see but two fools too damn stupid to say the one word that truly describes their feelings? 

"I will see you in the stars," Kraglin whispers, and damn if that Ravager eulogy doesn't near choke Yondu up as well. Sentiment must be catching, like the damn plague. 

"Okay," he says after a long minute of holding his last remaining crew member in a way he'd never allowed himself to do before. "Okay. Krags-" 

His first mate steps back, reluctantly letting him go. "I know," he says, and forces a silver smile despite the red-rimmed, teary eyes. "I know cap'n. Go get our boy. I'll be waitin', long as it takes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: a certain android designed for Ravager company on planet Contraxia is more than she seems.


End file.
